


well, you look like yourself

by celsidebottom



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Implied Violence, Infected Characters, in which Everything Is Fine, this is very much a crime and i am sorry (im not)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24054943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celsidebottom/pseuds/celsidebottom
Summary: ismail is acting very strangely
Comments: 10
Kudos: 21





	well, you look like yourself

**Author's Note:**

> Well, you look like yourself  
> But you're somebody else  
> Only it ain't on the surface  
> Well, you talk like yourself  
> No, I hear someone else though  
> Now you're making me nervous
> 
> from you're somebody else by flora cash  
> thank you to charlie for recommending the song

Saira stares down at her desk, eyes moving mechanically over the papers and not seeming to take anything in. From the door, Ishaq bites his lip.

“Did you need me, or . . . ?”

She jumps violently, eyes wide until she recognises Ishaq’s face.  
“Oh - god, sorry. Um - yes. Ishaq. Can you find Ismail for me please? I need to talk to him.”

Ishaq opens his mouth as if to speak, but hesitates.  
“Yeah! Yeah, sure, I can do that, uh-”  
Saira makes a vague noise of thanks, already having returned to staring at her desk, and he bites back the rest of his sentence.

He hates being ignored. 

Doing his best to close her office door without slamming it, he starts climbing the stairs to the next floor. Despite having spent many summers in the house, Ishaq had never managed to quite shake the feeling that it was a bit creepy, although he did his best to not show any sign of fear. In its current state, dark and dusty without the usual servants to take care of it, he tries to avoid being alone as much as possible.

“I-Ismail? Are you there?”  
Nothing. He almost turns back, but Saira’s tired face flashes through his mind and he cringes at the thought of giving her any more trouble.  
Puffing his cheeks, he steps further down the corridor.  
“Hey, Ismail! Saira wants you!”

He continues calling, making his way down the corridor with only the echoes of his own voice to accompany him. Stifling a sneeze, he peers around the last door.  
He hesitates before crossing the threshold as a strange unease prickles up his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, instinct responding to some unseen danger. The room is large and could be quite pleasant were it not for the large drapes hanging over the windows, and Ishaq has to strain his eyes to see into the dim corners. The dust on the floor is stained dark in places, and furniture lays strewn about in an unusual state of disarray.  
He starts as he sees a figure in the shadows at the opposite end, but as he comes closer he realises it’s just Ismail.

“What - Ismail? Have you been here the whole time?”  
Ismail, partially cast in shadow by the drapes, seems to be hunched over. He doesn’t respond.

“I was calling, you know! You can’t just ignore people!”  
His fear drains away, leaving only annoyance as Ismail doesn’t move, still turned away from him, staring at his hands.

“Oi!”

Something ugly begins to bubble inside Ishaq, something mean and vicious and made up of all the times Ismail had ignored him or left him alone, something that doesn’t care about Saira, something that cares only about this moment and making Ismail realise that he isn’t being fair. In a moment of fury, he lunges for him, and Ismail’s head snaps up. Moving faster than Ishaq had ever seen, he grabs his wrist and holds it in place with surprising strength. He is wearing a strange sort of glove, cold and sharp against Ishaq’s skin. Seething, Ishaq is unable to wrench his arm away.

“You- let go-”  
A lone shaft of light falls on Ismail and glints off his hands in a way that seems profoundly unnatural. Ishaq’s voice trails off as he stares at what are clearly claws, gleaming bronze in the darkness.

Even now, Ismail doesn’t seem to be looking directly at him, but rather through him, distant. For the first time, he speaks, in a strange, dream-like voice at odds with his iron grip.

“You left me, you know.”  
Ishaq grits his teeth.  
“That? That’s what this is about, really? Come on, you know that’s not true.”  
Ismail continues as if Ishaq had never spoken.  
“But I’m not alone. I’m never alone, now. They’re always with me.”

Ishaq swallows.  
“Y-you’re being proper weird, Ismail.”  
“Weird, am I? What an interesting thing to say.”  
“What d’you mean, ‘interesting’? You’re talking weird, why are you talking weird?”

Ismail tilts his head, and unease congeals into dread in the pit of Ishaq’s stomach as he notices the creeping strain of blue reaching up his brother’s cheek.  
He tries to yell, but all that comes out is a faint whimper that would have been embarrassing were he capable of feeling anything other than utter terror.

“You, you’re a zombie. How did you get zombified, how-”  
Ismail lets go of him and Ishaq stumbles backwards, clasping his wrist to his chest. He glances backwards - the door seems miles away. He swallows and tries to force his legs to move.

“So many questions. I had questions, you know. And now I have the answers.”  
Ismail’s eyes burn with an intensity Ishaq has never seen before. He seems completely calm, taking a casual step towards him.

“Stop- stop! Stop making it seem like it’s a good thing, it’s not good! The zombies, they get you! They get you and they turn you into a zombie, and then you’re done for!”  
Tears spill down his cheeks as he backs away.  
“You’re not really him! You’re just a zombie!”

With a yelp, Ishaq backs into a chair, knocking it over and going down with it. Desperately, he tries to think of a way he can escape, or maybe convince Ism- the zombie to let him go, but panic has wiped his mind blank.  
He flinches away as Ismail leans forward. The face in front of him twists into a parody of a smile.  
“Don’t cry. There’s no need to cry,” it says. “This won’t even hurt.”

Ishaq closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> :)


End file.
